The Man Eater

Uttarakhand, Northern India

Summer

1925

The most frightening discovery of the morning was not in fact the spattered blood of the missing boy, but a trail of tracks suggesting it was the Man Eater’s doing. I held Vinu’s trembling shoulders in a firm embrace, his eyes darting back and forth between the blood and the tracks, and all around us the throng of pilgrims shared his slack-jawed, fearful expression. 

Nearby, Naresh and the sadhu (I never learned his name, since he referred to himself as only sadhu, though he was far from the only holy man in Uttarakhand) were engaged in a heated discussion, arms gesticulating wildly. Naresh, our guide, argued in favour of going back; abandoning the pilgrimage, returning home to our families in disgrace. Normally an incomprehensible thought, the emergence of the Man Eater in recent years made it worth the transgression if it kept us from being eaten. Our sole ray of hope was the talk of a fearsome British hunter in the area who had allegedly vowed to end the beast’s reign of terror. 

But it was a fading hope. All devout Hindus knew the pilgrimage from Haridwar to Kedarnath was as treacherous as it was purifying. Those who returned alive spoke of rugged, untamed country, gaping ravines, paths winding through jungle and mountain. They told of pilgrims lost to dehydration, to broken ankles, or of a sickness that swelled the tongue and stained the skin yellow; men, women and children who were hastily cremated, their ashes scattered amidst the dust of the road and then beaten into the earth by the weary footsteps of the next flock of fervents seeking salvation. 

The sadhu warned that the Man Eater was a rakshasa in disguise, sent to punish those who failed to make the pilgrimage by eating their loved ones who did. Yet there was talk of the beast striking all across the valley - pouncing on women fetching water for cooking, prowling the outskirts of villages once the sun retreated behind the forest canopy, and, most terrifying of all, snatching small children from their beds, their parents slumbering obliviously beside them. 

I pulled Vinu closer to my chest. 

“I will keep you safe,” I promised him.

He looked up at me with an expression flickering between hope and doubt, mouth set firmly even as his bony frame shuddered like leaves in the wind. 

“You can fight the demon?”

“Yes.”

He frowned. “But you have only a stick.”

“No,” I said with a smile, gesturing at the other pilgrims. “I have twenty sticks.”

He opened his mouth, doubtless with another question, but we both jumped at the sound of leaves crunching underfoot. 

“Sadhu is adamant we must go to Kedarnath,” said Naresh, having evidently lost the argument. He caught the looks of alarm on our faces and chuckled. “Do not fear. The Man Eater’s hunger is sated, at least for a few days. And even there is a pilgrim’s lodge not far from here.” 

“And what then?” 

“And then…” he trailed off. “And then we hope the rakshasa decides he has punished us enough.”

“Dada,” Vinu piped up, “what if he is still hungry?”

Naresh leaned in, tickling Vinu below his ribcage with both of his tobacco-stained hands. Vinu squealed with laughter, though he shied back further into my arms. 

“You have nothing to fear,” the guide said. “I can see your ribs, child; there is no meat on you. And my, look at your legs! Even my stick is longer and wider.”

For all his skills as a guide, there was a selectiveness to Naresh’s familiarity, an undercurrent of calculated intensity that unsettled me. But it was not sufficiently defined to give voice to, nor did I wish to alienate the man keeping the rest of us alive. I settled for nodding politely and pulling Vinu out of his reach. 

The following days passed much the same as the weeks prior; our ragged line of pilgrims trailing in Naresh’s wake, most of us naked save for the dhoti around our waists to protect our modesty. The afternoon heat baked the soles of our feet until they felt hard as stone. Where the path was treacherous, I carried Vinu on my shoulders, and when I tired, Naresh offered to take over. He told jokes as he walked, and despite my misgivings, the warm sound of my grandson’s peals of laughter gave strength to my weary limbs. 

As difficult as the days were, the nights were something else entirely. I was sure no one truly slept, such was our fear of the Man Eater. We huddled together in clumps, reasoning that there was safety in numbers, and jumped at every stray sound from the dark of the jungle, even though the sadhu was adamant we would never hear the beast coming.

When we finally caught sight of the pilgrim’s lodge, I could scarcely believe my eyes, scrutinising the place with as much disbelief as a mirage in the desert. Though we arrived at a good time - just as daylight faded away over the treetops - that was where the good news ended. 

The lodge was full. 

The building itself was little more than a single-room wooden bungalow with a crooked verandah jutting precariously outwards. Pilgrims of all types crowded every available inch of shelter; they chattered noisily, casting forlorn glances into the darkening sky and fearful ones into the jungle. Two miserable-looking donkeys stood off to the side, nostrils flaring. 

An elderly man in a stained dhoti stood as we approached, his haggard features crumpling as he saw the size of our party. 

“Naresh…” he began.

“We must sleep inside, sahib,” our guide interrupted. He nodded in Vinu’s direction. “Even there are children with us.”

The man released a breath that told he’d had this conversation many times before.

“There is not enough space for all of you.”

At this the sadhu broke in. “You need not worry, sahib. We will sleep outside.” 

I stared at him, wide-eyed. 

He turned to address the group at large: “Brothers and sisters, I have spent much of recent days in prayer and penance. In return, an incantation was revealed to me that will keep the rakshasa away. Allow me to anoint each of you before we retire this night. I promise you safety.”

“You have gone mad, old man,” said Naresh.

“On the contrary,” the sadhu replied, “my path has never been clearer. The rakshasa feeds on fear. We shall not let it master us.”

This was too much for me to hear. “Sadhu, I beg your forgiveness, but I must insist that I sleep inside with Vinu. He will be safer there. You are well aware the Man Eater’s last victim was a boy Vinu’s age.”

He shook his head. “We must all partake if the incantation is to work. Believe me, the child will be safer outside under divine protection.”

Naresh, who was well-acquainted with the sadhu’s stubbornness, looked at me and shrugged. 

“Allow me to sleep beside you and Vinu tonight,” he suggested. “Even I will remain awake all night to defend us against the beast.”

“Will you tell me more stories, Dada?” said Vinu excitedly.

Naresh beamed. “As many as you want.”

I didn’t like the idea. The thought of it pricked against my intuition, made me unsettled. But it was a drop in the ocean next to my fear of the Man Eater. If there was no choice but to sleep outside, an extra pair of eyes to keep Vinu safe would go a long way.

By then the elderly owner of the lodge had already wandered off, so we set about finding spots for ourselves wherever there was space. As I set out our sleeping mats, I was again struck by how many people were sheltering here. I felt a small surge of comfort at the space we found, which was on the edge of the verandah but surrounded by other pilgrims on all sides. Surely the beast wouldn’t dare risk waking so many to take my grandson. 

Just as the last vestiges of light filtered away, the sadhu began his incantation. He burned incense in front of a burnished thakur idol, muttering phrases in Sanskrit, then smeared sandalwood reverently on each of our foreheads. It smelled rich and earthy. The entire lodge was dead silent now, though our fear of the Man Eater hung thick in the air like tobacco smoke.

I felt a wave of peace come over me and I realised just how exhausted I was, in both body and mind. My limbs ached and the heady fumes of the incense made my head swim. Wryly, I reflected that my body was not what it used to be, and perhaps it was no longer capable of such exertion. 

But I had to keep him safe.

“Vinu, stay close,” I murmured as I drifted off to sleep, “do not leave my side.”

I felt him shift beside me, but I was asleep before I heard his reply.

When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was the lack of sensation, the missing warmth of Vinu’s body against mine. I sat bolt upright, scanning the darkness frantically. I saw nothing, heard nothing, my eyes failing to adjust to the pitch blackness around me. 

I felt for him with shaking fingers. If I felt the wetness of blood on the soil, or smelled its metallic scent, I knew I would scream at the top of my lungs, demon be damned. But his spot was empty. There was no trace of him at all.

I began to make out shapes around me, illuminated by what scant starlight the heavens offered; perhaps fearing the Man Eater herself, the moon had hidden her face behind a cloud. Pilgrims slumbered all around me, their chests gently rising and falling, oblivious to my abject terror. There was no wind; the air stood still, frozen in fear.

That was when I saw that Naresh’s spot was also empty.

I stumbled to my feet, ignoring my knees cracking in protest, and set off quickly but carefully, through the mass of pilgrims and into the jungle. My heart pounded in my ears, acrid fear rising in my throat, but I could not turn back. I had promised my daughter I would keep her son safe on the pilgrimage. Did it also mean defending him from the demons amongst us? 

Unsure where they might have gone, I ventured back down the trail. I walked for only a few minutes when I remembered my stick was still leaning against the verandah. Stifling a curse, I plodded on, ears straining for any trace of my grandson, Naresh, or, thakur forbid, the Man Eater. When news of the beast arrived in our village, the first thing everyone said was to never travel alone in the jungle; advice I always heeded until tonight. I wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or alarmed that Vinu was not out here alone. 

The minutes sped by breathlessly, and I was ready to turn back and look elsewhere when I heard a distinctive note of laughter from further down the trail. Suddenly the wind was rushing in my ears. Abandoning all thoughts of self-preservation, I called Vinu’s name as loudly as I could, brushing aside branches, stumbling awkwardly through the underbrush towards his voice.

At first I could only see his legs. For a heart-stopping moment I thought they were limp and motionless, but then they straightened and the rest of him came into view from behind a tree. 

“Dadu?”

“What are you doing here alone?” I hissed, lowering my voice to an urgent whisper. “I told you to stay by my side, and you were never to go into the jungle by yourself!”

Vinu looked down, chastened. “I was playing games with Uncle Naresh. He said it would be safe.”

“Games?” I wanted to slap him, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. “Games in the jungle in the middle of the night?”

“Uncle Naresh said it would be fun.”

I clenched my fists. “Uncle Naresh this, Uncle Naresh that. Where is he, Vinu? I don’t see him.”

He seemed to realise it too, and he looked around, bewildered. He pointed at a fallen tree trunk nearby. 

“He was sitting there just before.”

Cold spikes of terror crept up my neck. The jungle felt too quiet now. Even the leaves had stopped rustling, as if they held their breath in anticipation. 

I could feel it watching.

It was close. 

I pulled Vinu into my arms, holding him in the same firm embrace as the day we first saw what the Man Eater was capable of. He trembled so vigorously he had to clench his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. We swivelled as one, trying to catch a glimpse of the impending attack, imagining mottled black fur, fierce green eyes and outstretched claws emerging from the dark.

Then we heard a scream.

The voice was not familiar to us; it was a woman’s scream, and not of our group of pilgrims. Unmistakably, it came from the direction of the lodge. 

Hoisting Vinu onto my shoulders, I brushed away my creaking body’s protests and crept back to the lodge as quickly as I dared. As we approached we heard more sounds: raised voices, what sounded like children crying, and even the panicked braying of the donkeys.

The scene at the lodge was tumultuous. Seemingly everyone was awake and the lanterns had been lit. People were milling about in confusion, but a huddle had formed on the edge of the verandah, near where our sleeping spot was. We pushed through to the front and found the sadhu kneeling next to a woman sobbing into her garments. 

“... incantation kept you safe,” he was saying. He saw us approach and raised an eyebrow. “What possessed you to enter the jungle? It is a miracle the rakshasa did not eat you, even with my divine protection.”

I ignored his question. “What happened?”

He glanced at the woman. “She claims she saw the beast prowling about, hunting for a victim. She screamed and alerted the entire lodge, but it escaped before anyone else could see it.”

“So no-one was taken?”

“Certainly not from our party; my incantation ensured so.” The sadhu frowned. “Say, where is Naresh?” he added. “I assumed he was with you, since the three of you were gone.”

I was about to say I hadn’t seen him when another voice chimed in.

“Even I am here, sadhu,” said Naresh from behind us. He looked a little worse for wear, his dhoti askew, leaves and twigs stuck in his hair. There were small scratches on his face. “Thank you for protecting me. I was lost in the jungle and the demon even would have eaten me were it not for your incantation.”

Though I was expecting the sadhu to pontificate further about his ritual, to my surprise he simply nodded and twisted his lip in contemplation - or was it disappointment? - then turned back to the woman.

“You are okay?” Naresh asked, his gaze flickering between Vinu and I.

I nodded coldly, tightening my grip on Vinu. 

The guide chuckled nervously. “Even I was afraid. But we are safe now, eh?”

A sudden wail drew my attention back to the crying woman as she lamented that no-one believed her. The sadhu hushed her, reciting prayers in a soothing tone. 

Just then I felt a hot rush of wind, and Vinu’s legs abruptly stiffened around my shoulders. My head snapped back to where Naresh had been standing - 

- and he was gone. 

Above me Vinu’s face was white as a sheet; he alone had been looking at Naresh when everyone else’s attention was on the woman. His trembling hands dug painfully into my hair. The throng of pilgrims around us seemed oblivious that anything had happened, and the jungle maintained its eerie, watchful silence. 

But I didn’t need to ask him what he saw. 

The blood and the tracks told the whole story.